


Tonight You're The King

by starduster



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Body Worship, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starduster/pseuds/starduster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chrom is Frederick's respite after a hard day's work... sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight You're The King

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Christmas/Hannukah present for iavenjqasdf on tumblr (and on here, too)!

Even when the Shepherds are not on a campaign, there’s entirely too much to do around the barracks and not enough hands to do them.  Or, perhaps more accurately, there _are_ enough hands to do everything that needs to be done, but there’s not enough hands that are _willing_ to do it.  Weapons must be cared for, tomes must be restocked, horses must be fed and sheltered and walked, and armor must be cleaned and buffed and repaired.  Inventories must be taken, and training and practice occurs most of the daylight hours.  To most of the Shepherds, evenings are better spent with their families and lovers rather than doing menial tasks about the barracks.

So, inevitably, the tasks wind up on Frederick’s to-do list.  Between these and the duties expected of the butler of the royal family, by the time he sinks into his bed at the end of the day the exhaustion has leeched into his bones and the very concept of doing anything else is impossible.

 

It’s nearly midnight when Frederick finally returns to his room.  Kicking off his boots, he trudges towards his bed and lights the oil lamp on the bedside table, then falls heavily onto the mattress.  If it weren’t for the scratchy feeling of a piece of parchment digging into his back, he’d already be asleep.  Sitting up wearily, Frederick lifts the paper that was sitting on the bed before he crushed it, squinting at the neat handwriting that he recognizes immediately as Chrom’s.

_Come to my quarters tonight, if you’re not too tired.  I have something special for you._

For a moment Frederick _does_ consider just rolling to the side and throwing the paper away.  Even as he sits up he feels like his eyelids are about to fall shut at any moment.  But the thought of his lover, and the exalt-to-be nonetheless, waiting for him is too tempting.  With a sigh he heaves himself to his feet, puts his boots back on, and heads out the door.

 

The guards don’t look twice when Frederick walks through the doors into Chrom’s chambers.  It’s not like their relationship is any sort of a secret anymore, and if the guards have anything to say about it they keep it to themselves. 

Chrom’s quarters are fit for a royal but modest, just as he likes them.  A sitting room, a bedroom, a dressing room, and a spacious bathroom are all he wants, and despite Emmeryn’s frequent offers of bigger quarters he turns them down each time, preferring the coziness of the ones he currently occupies.  The sitting room is empty and the door to the bedroom stands open, and Frederick can hear the muffled sound of the tub filling in the bathroom. 

“Is that you, Frederick?”  Chrom’s voice calls from the bedroom.

“It is, milord,” Frederick replies tiredly, closing the door behind him and sinking into one of the plush couches in the sitting room.   He closes his eyes and rubs at his temples, attempting to ward off the headache that exhaustion is bringing to him.

“ _Chrom_ ,” Chrom chides him, and Frederick hears footsteps crossing the rug towards him.  “You don’t need to call me ‘milord’ when we’re in private.  Or any time, for that matter.”  Chrom’s weight settles onto his lap and still Frederick keeps his eyes closed, but his arms snake around Chrom’s waist and _oh._

“You’re not wearing anything,” Frederick says flatly, blinking a few times and staring at the naked man settled in his lap. 

Chrom snorts out a little laugh and presses a soft kiss to Frederick’s lips.  “There’s the amazing powers of observation I expected from Frederick the Wary,” he teases, draping his arms around Frederick’s shoulders and trailing feather-light kisses down his neck.  “This is part of your surprise.”

Frederick raises an eyebrow in tired amusement.  “Is it, now?”

“It is,” Chrom replies casually, as if his fingers weren’t undoing Frederick’s tie and tossing it off the couch.  “You’ve been working so damn hard recently, I feel like maybe you need a little something to make you feel a bit better.”  He smiles the shy little smile that never fails to make Frederick’s heart skip a beat.  “Unless you’re too tired, I don’t want to push you.”

The kiss they share is gentle and slow, but Frederick’s arms tighten around Chrom’s waist and Chrom sighs into his mouth.  When Frederick finally pulls away, he smiles and lets his hands skim down Chrom’s hips and along the outsides of his thighs.  “I’m never too tired for you, my love.”  Chrom tries to grind a bit in his lap, but Frederick’s strong hands hold him steady.  “But first, is that bath you’re running for me?”

Chrom nods, planting a last chaste kiss on his lips before sliding off Frederick’s lap.  “Tonight,” he says, grabbing Frederick’s hands and pulling him to his feet, “ _you’re_ going to be the king.”

 

The bathwater is nearly scalding when Frederick slips into it but it feels _so good_ he can’t suppress the little moan that slips through his lips.  His eyes closed, he rests his head back against the rim of the tub and sighs quietly as the heat saps the fatigue out of his tired muscles, only cracking an eye open when the agitated lapping of the water announces that Chrom’s joined him.  He offers a hand and Chrom takes it, allowing himself to be pulled into Frederick’s lap.  Fingers stroke lazily up and down his back, and Chrom lays his head down on Frederick’s shoulder. 

“You don’t need to work yourself to death, you know,” Chrom utters quietly.  He shifts slightly, enough to be able to crane his neck up and gaze at Frederick’s serene, sleepy face.

“No, but I enjoy my work.  I was made to serve people, it seems, no matter how exhausting it is.”  He opens his eyes and stares at the intricate tilework on the ceiling, tracing the mosaic patterns that curl and blossom into a vibrant mural.  “Pleasing you, Lissa, and Lady Emmeryn are more pleasurable to me than sitting around doing nothing.”

Twisting to straddle Frederick’s hips, Chrom rests his arms on Frederick’s shoulders and stares into his eyes with an intensity that’s almost a little unsettling.  “Is what we’re doing now ‘sitting around doing nothing?’”

Frederick just laughs, wrapping his arms around Chrom’s well-muscled torso and kissing him deeply, holding him close.  “No, no, far from it.  I’m not quite certain what you’re up to, but it’s certainly not nothing.”  His hands slide slowly down Chrom’s back to settle on the globes of his ass, squeezing playfully.  “But I can guess one thing you’re planning on doing.”  His hands slip forward and—

“Hey,” Chrom scolds, scooting back out of Frederick’s lap with a severe frown.  “Didn’t I tell you that _you_ were going to be king today?  I’m going to get all over you while you lay back and enjoy it, not the other way around.”  To Frederick’s disappointment Chrom stands and climbs out of the tub, trailing water across the marble tiles.  “I’ll be waiting for you in bed,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Frederick with that damn little smile again, “so once you learn to keep your hands to yourself, come join me.”

 

Once he’s clean and dried, wrapped loosely in a robe that he expects won’t be on him for much longer (and for that matter, he’s beginning to think another bath will probably have to be in order), Frederick makes his way to Chrom’s bedchamber.  He finds the young exalt-to-be waiting cross legged on the bed, and the prince springs to his feet when Frederick enters and meets him halfway across the room.

Chrom’s lips and hands are on him in a heartbeat, sliding down his waist and dipping into every valley and divot of muscle that lines his torso.  His erection hangs heavy between his legs, and he makes an effort to grind against Frederick’s growing arousal as much as possible, gaining as much delicious contact as he possibly can. 

“You wanna fuck me?” Chrom murmurs against Frederick’s lips, and such lewd words should sound wrong falling from the lips of a royal but Frederick can’t deny the effect they have on him.  Grasping Chrom’s hips with strong hands, he pushes the man down onto the bed and kisses him so hard he feels like they both must be seeing stars. 

“You’ve got no idea how badly I want to fuck you,” Frederick growls against Chrom’s skin, but before he can make good on that statement Chrom has hooked a leg over his own and with a sudden burst of strength unexpected of the lean man he’s flipped Frederick onto his back and pinned his arms above his head.  Chrom’s hands roughly shove his own against the headboard and in a flash there’s a silky piece of fabric being wound around his wrists and tied to one of the slats of the headboard.  “Chrom, what are you—“  His voice fades when Chrom’s mouth traces the length of his neck, stopping here and there to press a kiss or lay a hickey. 

“Didn’t I tell you to lay back and let me do the work?” The look on Chrom’s face is one of ultimate smugness as he nimbly undoes the belt of the robe and throws it open, exposing Frederick’s battle-scarred skin to his touch.  Lips touch Frederick’s neck as hands rest on his shoulders and begin a slow, teasing slide down, down, down across his chest and abdomen, turning to skirt around his sides and linger in the defined ridges of his hips. 

Swallowing heavily, Frederick can feel his arousal quickly mounting even though Chrom's not so much as _looked_ at where he really wants to be touched, but the way Chrom is running his tongue down the length of his neck, pausing here and there to bite or kiss or suck a bruise into the pale flesh is a _great_ substitute for pure stimulation.  He clears his throat uncomfortably, shifting restlessly beneath him.  "You, ah, you said I'd be the king tonight," he stammers, sucking in a sharp breath when Chrom's teeth scrape against his collarbone.  "I don't think kings usually get tied up by their retainers." 

Chrom laughs, low and husky.  "No, you're going to be a king tonight so I can worship every inch of you." He rocks slowly, agonizingly slowly in Frederick's lap, letting Frederick's erection rub the cleft of his ass and letting his own cock be rubbed against the hard muscles of the knight's abdomen.  Frederick has to try his damnedest not to gasp when Chrom's lips close around one of his nipples and one of his hands comes up to pinch and roll the other one between its fingers.  Teeth close lightly around the sensitive flesh and Frederick hisses in pleasure, but Chrom backs off with a laugh.

Lifting himself off of Frederick and moving to sit at his side, Chrom's fingers finally slide down to where they need to be.  Calloused fingers wrap around his cock and pull in a slow, lazy stroke, Chrom's thumb playing at the head much too mind-numbingly slow.  Hands straining against the binds around his wrists, Frederick thrusts his hips into Chrom's fist, shuddering when Chrom's free hand slides up and down Frederick's side teasingly.  With another dip of his head Chrom's latched onto his nipple again, teeth worrying the sensitive skin and drawing another groan from Frederick's lips.

"There.... there's no need to tease me like this, Chrom," Frederick groans, throwing his head back into the pillow and straining into the slow strokes of Chrom's hand.  "Aren't I the king tonight?"

Chrom smiles and releases Frederick's cock, moving (much to Frederick's delight) to lay between his legs and resume his stroking.  "Shall I do something about this, then?" He bends his head ever so slightly and presses the softest of kisses to Frederick's dick, letting his tongue trace the length of it with so little teasing pressure that Frederick briefly wonders if he's touching him at all. 

Frederick swallows heavily, his eyes trained intently on the movement of Chrom's mouth against him.  "Ah, that would be wonderful-"  His voice is lost in his throat as Chrom's lips close around him.  Chrom, Frederick has learned over their years of whatever-this-relationship-is, is _damned good_ at giving blowjobs, a talent you'd not expect from a royal swordsman.  But's he's exceptional with his mouth, all hot wet heat and sucking pressure, his tongue moving in perfect synchronization with his mouth.  His hand wraps firmly around the base of Frederick's cock as he sinks down, careful to keep his teeth out of the way and letting his tongue press firmly against him all the way down.  Instinctively Frederick moves to sink his hands into Chrom's hair for further encouragement but he's immediately stopped by the snug tightness of the scarf around his wrists, and he swears under his breath. 

Chrom's eyes flicker up from where they're unfocused on his stomach to meet Frederick's lust-heavy gaze, and the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes hints at his amusement.  He lets Frederick out of his mouth but keeps stroking him languidly.  "Do you want to touch me?" 

"Of course I want to touch you!"

"Too bad," Chrom says flatly and swallows down Frederick's cock again, leaving the knight to toss his head back against the pillow and groan hoarsely.  When he cracks open his eyes and dares to look down, he can see Chrom touching himself with slow, easy strokes, and the very sight pushes him awfully close to the edge.  His fingers clench and unclench, and he tries to roll his hips to thrust deeper into the warmth and suction that's enveloped him. 

"If you don't stop, I'm going to come early."  Frederick would _love_ to come with his cock in Chrom's mouth but that would spoil all the fun, and he hasn't even gotten to so much as touch Chrom yet.  Pouting, Chrom lets him out of his mouth. 

"Fine."

There's a small jar of lubricant stashed away in the bedside table, and Chrom stretches across Frederick to reach it.  The first few times they'd done this were awkward, painful affairs, their only lubricant being spit and sweat.  Eventually Frederick had summoned up the courage to ask the local apothecary about it and had been graciously shown a variety of products that would keep him from tearing Chrom open (any more than he wanted).  Sitting back on his heels between Frederick's spread legs, Chrom spreads some of the thick gel over his fingers, pausing momentarily to slick up Frederick's cock as well.  Frederick watches with lust-lidded eyes as Chrom slips the first finger in, not missing the small grimace at the intrusion.  The finger works slowly, in and out, in and out, before a second and eventually third one joins it, working in synch to stretch and prod.  He's biting his lip, eyes closed in concentration, and Frederick wants more than anything to reach out a hand and help him, but his binds remain secure.

Finally Chrom's fingers slip out and he's crouched over Frederick's hips, the very tip of Frederick's cock pressed against his asshole.  "Are you ready?" Chrom murmurs, a smirk gracing his lips as Frederick squirms beneath him.

"I've been ready all night but you seemed quite content to tease me," he replies in what he had hoped would be a sarcastic tone, but his voice breaks off when Chrom starts to slowly sink down, his hands planted on the firm plane of Frederick's torso for support.  A drop of precum has already gathered at the tip of Chrom's dick, and it drips onto Frederick's stomach with each of Chrom's slow, careful movements.  When Chrom has taken him all in he rests for a moment, thighs trembling and breathing slow.  No matter how many times they do this it always takes Chrom a moment to get used to it.  Frederick is well-endowed, after all, and Chrom is rather slim anyway. 

"Are you alright?" This question is asked every time they do this, always at this moment, and Chrom's reply is always the same.  He nods, raising a hand to brush his sweaty hair out of his face, and begins a slow, steady rocking in Frederick's lap.  After a moment he draws up a bit and sinks down, and the sharp exhale that falls from Chrom's lips tells Frederick he's hit exactly the right spot. 

"Fuck," Chrom mutters, pace quickening just the slightest bit.  Frederick is watching with rapt attention as he slides up and down his cock, his hole clenching around him, and Chrom laughs softly when he notices.  Frederick responds with a sharp thrust upward, and Chrom cries out at the jarring, exhilarating sensation.  "Oh gods, do that again--"

Chrom is grinding down against him now, his fingers clawing uselessly at Frederick's stomach with every hard thrust into him, and his cock is bouncing with each jerky movement.  Finally he spares a hand to jerk himself off, never slowing his pace.  Frederick, too, is starting to feel the urgency as heat curls in his loins and it becomes harder and harder to keep his thrusts even.  "I-I'm going to come soon," Chrom moans, his hand working faster and faster and his counter-thrusts becoming shallower and shallower. 

"Me too," Frederick groans, and once more he just wants to yank his hands free and shove Chrom into the mattress and do away with all this grinding and struggling.  "Untie me," he pleads, and Chrom is ever merciful, stretching up as best he can to unknot the scarf and toss it away.  The moment his hands are free he's flipped them, Chrom now face-down on the mattress with Frederick's hand tangled in his hair to keep him there and his ass up and needy. 

Frederick plunges back into him and Chrom screams, biting the sheets and forcing his body back against his lover.  Fingers are digging into his hips as Frederick fucks him in earnest, each wet slap of skin on skin driving him closer to his climax.  Frederick's breathing is hard and labored, and his balls are feeling awfully tight, and he's knows it won't be much longer now. 

Chrom is spasming around him and shouting his name, and Frederick's mind is lost in pleasure as he slams home one last time and comes with a harsh groan. 

When he's finally caught his breath, Frederick eases out of Chrom and helps him lie on his back, neither of them minding that they're lying on sheets covered with come.  Chrom's legs are shaking, and Frederick wordlessly lays a hand on his thigh until the quaking stops and Chrom sits up. 

"So,” he murmurs with a hoarse voice, “are you ready for round two yet?" 

Frederick rubs at his eyes and yawns.  "Absolutely not, but I'm certainly ready for another bath."

 


End file.
